Lauren Haney: Cruel Deceit

He reached toward her, then slowly withdrew his hand be fore touching her hair. She moaned deep down inside.

Two Medjays caught her arms and lifted her to her feet.

She looked wild-eyed at Bak, cried out, “You can’t tear me from my home! I’m innocent, I tell you.”

Bak looked upon her with pity. He was not proud of what he had to do, but it must be done. “You lived in Sile on a ma jor trade route and learned to speak the tongues of many lands, including Hatti. Your father, a merchant, kept you and your sister by his side to serve as translators. As a result, you met all who traveled through that border city-merchants, envoys, soldiers-and you could speak to them with ease.

One of you fell in love with a man from Hatti and continued your relationship when you dwelt in Hattusa.” Much of what he said was conjecture, but he felt sure he was close to the truth.

Pentu stared at his wife, appalled. “You? You would be unfaithful to me? To a man who held you close, who raised you onto a plinth and worshipped you as a goddess?”

A harsh sob burst from Taharet’s throat. “I’ve done noth ing to be ashamed of. Nothing!”

Pentu’s expression turned severe, cool. “You’ve betrayed me, woman.”

“No,” Taharet sobbed. “I swear I haven’t.”

Bak glanced at Meret, who was staring at her sister, her face whiter than the whitest of linen. He could almost feel her pain, and remorse threatened to undermine his resolve.

“Take her,” he said to Psuro, “to the Great Prison of Waset.”

As the men pulled Taharet away from the dais, Meret sprang to her feet. “You must release her, sir. She’s done nothing worse than protect me. I’m the one who became em broiled in Hittite politics.”

“Meret!” Taharet cried. “Don’t.”

Pahure strode quickly to Meret’s side. “Be silent, mis tress. He knows not of what he speaks.”

Meret appeared not to hear either of them. “I did what I had to do, not for myself, but for a man I cared for above all others.” She looked at Bak, her distress evident. “Your as sumption was correct, Lieutenant. I fell in love with a Hit tite. A man of royal blood, who wished to unseat the king and replace him with another. I did nothing more than carry messages, but I knew their contents and sympathized.”

Bak clamped his mouth tight, forbidding himself from urging a denial. The admission had sealed her fate and she was wise enough to realize that her life was over.

The steward placed a protective arm around her. “You must not believe her, Lieutenant. She owes to her sister all she has. She’d say anything to protect her.”

Bak stood quite still, looking at the pair. He dared not look at Amonked. They had remained together long into the night, Bak explaining his conclusions and describing what he meant to do, Amonked offering suggestions and giving a final approval. Bak’s plan had borne fruit, his assumption that Meret would not allow her sister to suffer in her place had proved accurate. One motive had remained uncertain, and the steward’s action had answered it.

“Will you never leave me alone, Pahure?” Meret flung the steward a furious look and slid out from his grasp. “I’ll not allow Taharet to suffer for my transgressions.”

Pentu frowned uncertainly at the pair, whether unsure if

Meret’s admission was true or unsettled about his steward’s behavior, Bak could not tell.

“You were wed to the Hittite?” Bak asked.

She shook her head. “I met him long ago in Sile. He was aide to an envoy who came and went. When my father learned of our love, he insisted I wed another. A man of

Kemet. Later my husband died and my sister and I moved to

Waset. After she wed Pentu, she took me into her home at

Tjeny. When we went to Hattusa, I met him again and our love deepened.”

“Mistress!” Pahure took her arm, tried to turn her away from Bak. Glaring at him, she stood as rigid as a tree whose roots were planted firmly in the earth, and as immovable.

Bak, well aware of what the admission must have cost her, softened his voice. “You once told me you’d loved and lost and knew not what had happened to him. You were speaking of the Hittite?”

She bit her lip, bowed her head. “Yes.”

If her lover had been identified as a traitor and found to be disloyal to his king, Bak could well imagine his fate. Meret had apparently reached a similar conclusion.

“Why did you not leave us alone?” Taharet cried. “Why did you have to destroy our lives? We long ago returned from that wretched land of Hatti. The incident was forgot ten. Why bring it back to life?”

Bak signaled the Medjays to release her. “A man was slain so your sister’s secret would not be revealed, mistress.”

“You accused Taharet, yet you’ve known all along I was guilty?” Meret asked.

He hardened his heart to the look of betrayal on her face.

“She had too much to lose-wealth, position, security-to take such a risk. And she was far too protective of you.”

“Who died for Meret’s sake?” Taharet demanded. “The

Hittite merchant?”

“Maruwa, yes. Whether he meant to point a finger at her, we’ll never know. But someone feared he might and cut his throat to silence him.”

“Neither my sister nor I took his life.” Taharet glanced at Meret, as if suddenly afraid her sister had been driven to murder. “That I swear to the lord Amon.”

Bak glanced at Pentu, sitting in unrelenting silence on the dais, staring at his wife as he would at a stranger. “Men may have died because of your foolishness, mistress-many no doubt in Hattusa-but neither of you have slain a man with your own hands.”

Bak caught Psuro’s eye, warning him to remain alert and ready to act. “Pahure took Maruwa’s life,” he said.

Stunned disbelief, shocked murmurs, muffled oaths fol lowed in quick succession. None remained unmoved except

Amonked and the Medjays. The steward, though caught by surprise along with everyone else, managed a harsh, cynical laugh.

Pentu glowered disbelief. “Why would he, of all people, slay a stranger?”

“He wished to place mistress Meret in his debt, to win her hand in marriage. He wished to step up to a position of re spect in your household, to become a member of the family.

That he could do only through her, the sole unwed female close to you.”

Meret stared at Pahure, appalled.

The steward laughed. “Don’t listen to him, sir. He’s des perate to uphold his reputation as a man who always lays hands on his quarry. He’s found no one else to blame, so he points a finger at me.”

Pentu, looking uncertain, glanced at Amonked. He found no reassurance in the grim look he received in return.

“I’ve heard it said that once you slay a man, a second slaying comes easier, and a third.” Bak eyed the steward with contempt. “Did you find that to be true, Pahure?”

“You speak in riddles, Lieutenant.”

“I speak of the auditor Woserhet and the priest Merya mon, whose lives you also took. And you ordered Zuwapi to slay me.”

Pahure returned Bak’s scornful look. “I’ve had no deal ings with anyone in the sacred precinct for as long as I can remember. Why would I wish those two men dead? Or you, for that matter?”

“To save yourself from the charge of stealing ritual items from the lord Amon and smuggling them out of the land of

Kemet.”

Every man and woman in Pentu’s household gaped.

“You know not of what you speak,” Pahure scoffed.

“You’d be hard pressed to prove I knew one of the three.”

“You undoubtedly met Maruwa in Hattusa. You met

Woserhet when he stopped in Tjeny, but I doubt you feared him at that time. You were too far removed from the scene of your crimes. Not until he became suspicious of Meryamon did he and the priest have to die.”